Scattered words

 If you knew how old is this or even how many times I’ve deleted this then rewrote it over and over again, then edited it and asked AI about it, then questioned myself a hundred times or so, you’d laugh.                                  ************** So here she was again. One o'clock in the morning, wide awake and wandering through a memory she had visited more times than she could count. Time had carried away so much, yet somehow it had never managed to take that moment with it. A question lingered there, untouched by the years. "Why not me?" Nine years had passed, and those three words still found their way back to her in the quiet hours. For a long time, she thought it was the question itself that haunted her. But it wasn't. It was the answer she had given. She remembered it clearly—the careful, convenient explanation she had offered in place of the truth. An answer polished enough to be belie...

  My dear, dear Dorothy, My greatest joy is that we were finally able to meet and drink coffee together in real life. Little did I know that our first time sitting together would also be our goodbye. You brought so much hope into my life during one of my darkest periods—me, and everyone else who received your poems written on the cards you sent us. Each one was a quiet act of love. I am writing to you here because this is where we met. This is where we found each other: me, writing about war; you, grieving your friend. You emailed me and told me about the poem you had written. You told me my writing was beautiful. You told me to have hope—that a better future was ahead. When I told you I was organizing a TEDx event, you said you wanted to help. You said you wanted to send us your poem. I still remember what my colleagues said when I told them a woman from across the sea wanted to send us her poem of love. “Why?” “Because she is kind. Because she is loving.” And so you did. Holding ...

  في اشخاص بحياتنا منضلنا حاملينهن بقلبنا يوم.. ورا يوم.. ورا يوم..ورا يوم..  منضلنا عم ننقلهن معنا من مكان لمكان ، سنة ورا سنة. منضل عم نمسح الغبرة عذكرياتنا سوا حتى تضل ذاكرتهن معنا فريش كأنو مبارح كنا سوا حتى لو مضت سنة و تنين و تلاتة و ستة و عشرة ..  منضل عم نفكر فيهن، كيفهن؟ وين صارو؟ كيف عم يقضوا يومهن؟ يا ترى هنن مناح؟ يا ترى عم يفكروا فينا كمان؟ يا ترى عادي اذا رجعنا و حكينا؟  بس يمكن لازم نوصل لشي يوم و نتخلى عنهن، يمكن لازم نتركهن و نكفي الطريق، يمكن لازم ننسى.يمكن لازم .. أكيد لازم.. بعرف انو لازم..  شي يوم.. أكيد شي يوم ، أكيد شي يوم رح فيق و رح كون نسيت ، رح كون نسيت انن كانو موجودين بحياتنا، رح كون نسيت كيف كنا سوا، أكيد شي يوم رح بطل حنين و ذكريات، أكيد شي يوم رح بطل اشتاق، أكيد شي يوم..  بس..  مو اليوم.. لسا مو اليوم، لسا اليوم أنا بحاجتهن يضلوا بقلبي و معي.  نكمل طريقنا سوا بقلبي بس..  To YOU,  The one who probably isn’t going to read this, cause you never did and never will. I hope you’re doing well, I hope you’re happy...

"December 8th, 2024 — The time is now 6:18 PM, Damascus time: Syria without Bashar al-Assad." It took fourteen years. Fourteen years of dreaming of freedom, then fearing it. Of daring to hope, then being silenced. Of imagining a future, then watching it drown in blood, injustice, and darkness. For years, I thought I had lost every last piece of passion left in me, every sense of belonging to a country that no longer looked like me, nor I like it. Syria, once a symbol of warmth and familiarity, had become a scar, blurry and distant. And so, I told myself I no longer cared. At least… that’s what I believed. Until the day it happened. Until the chains broke, the prisons opened, and the birds flew free. The moment I heard the news "Syria is Alassad free"  I couldn’t breathe. Every memory, every hope, every idea I had buried deep within me came rushing back to life. Dreams I had wrapped in silence and tucked away into the darkest corners of my soul, they resurfaced like ...